Ye Merry Gentlemen
by Osidiano
Summary: For the pwkm: Kristoph and Klavier, despite the age gap, look almost identical. After Kristoph gets out on parole near Christmas, he and Klavier get into a fight that accidentally ends in Klavier's death. With his only options being to assume Klavier's identity (and fake his own death) or go back to prison indefinitely, Kristoph does the only thing he can: he becomes Klavier Gavin.
1. Chapter 1

**Ye Merry Gentlemen**

He should have been at a party right now, should have been drunk and fumbling notes on a borrowed guitar right now. He should have been slurring his words and stumbling into good-looking people, telling them in languages they did not understand that he thought they were pretty and needed another drink. He should have been flirting with cute interns, touching shoulders and lingering just a little too long to be innocent. That was what he should have been doing, but Kristoph Gavin was getting out of prison today.

Klavier looked down at his watch for what must have been the nine hundredth time since he had parked the car and walked over to the bottom of the steps leading up to the Detention Center's front entrance. His brother had been transferred back into the city from the state prison this morning to finish some paperwork regarding his parole, which – Klavier rationalized – must have been why he was so late. It was cold out here, and he had been waiting for almost a half an hour already. The blond crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to pout or sulk.

Technically, Klavier could have gone inside. He could have sat down in the lobby and waited impatiently in the warm, spartan room. But that was the last thing he wanted right now. He knew that he could not go in there with a smile, and that questions that he did not want to voice the answers to would be asked. Today was _supposed_ to be a day of celebration, a day of being thankful and feeling blessed; it was Christmas Eve, after all, and Kristoph was getting out of prison after two years of hard work and endless phone calls.

Kristoph had been found guilty of two counts of first-degree murder, two counts of conspiracy, and four counts of obstruction of justice. Phoenix Wright had, surprisingly, not pressed charges for defamation of character or asked to be reimbursed for the irreparable damage to his career. He had even turned down Klavier's suggestion for an out-of-court settlement regarding the matter. Perhaps he was allergic to the idea of getting paid for his trouble. Still, Klavier could not believe that he had gotten his brother off with such a light sentence, given the serious nature of the man's crimes. Being a prosecutor had its perks, though, regardless of whether or not he felt guilty about having used them. Did he feel guilty, though, or just angry that he had ever needed to use his influence like that? The elder Gavin had gotten a measly sixty years, and fifty-eight of those were to be suspended on the condition that Kristoph live with his younger brother and be under strict house arrest for the first five years after his initial release. He would be unable to go more than a few feet from the edge of their property, unless Klavier was taking him to one of his appointments.

Klavier had very few places that he would be able to take his brother, and would have to follow the same route every time. His brother had been instructed to meet with a parole officer three times a month, and have weekly sessions with a court-appointed therapist. Being late to either of these appointments, regardless of circumstances, would be seen as a direct violation of parole. Kristoph Gavin had also been banned from ever setting foot inside a court of law again, although he had long since been disbarred, of course. There were multiple restraining orders in place to keep the former attorney from making contact with anyone who had been involved with his indictment and the following trial, with the singular exception of his brother. Even the smallest infraction on his parole would result in him going back to prison, not for the end of his sentence, but rather for the remainder of his natural life.

Of course, his brother had, at the time, assured him that the 'remainder of his natural life' would not be very long in that particular scenario. They may have bargained their way out of the death sentence, but Kristoph had signed a DNR while in prison, and had promised not to accept any medical services meant to prolong his health. He had even changed his life insurance after realizing that the policy did not 'afford him the opportunity to maintain his dignity.' When Klavier pressed him on that odd statement, his brother had just smiled and rather bluntly informed him that his previous one had not covered death by suicide and that he had wanted his precious, precocious baby brother to get something worthwhile for having to deal with the hassle of a funeral.

If they had not been separated by glass at the time, Klavier would have slapped him.

Klavier shook his head. Although he had negotiated the details of Kristoph's plea bargain two years ago, and made shady deals and cashed in favors to keep the state from seeking the death penalty, it did not lessen the slimy feeling that had invaded his person. They had both been forced to dirty their hands to get the damn agreement signed: in Klavier's case, it had been with the attorney assigned to prosecute the case and with the High Prosecutor himself. Kristoph had called up the presiding judge and the current Chief of Police, presumably to blackmail or bribe them, although Klavier had no evidence suggesting foul play. Still, this was his Kristoph, and he did not need – nor especially desire, given their history – for such evidence to exist.

The young prosecutor hated to admit it, but he sometimes wished that everything had just gone the way that it was supposed to. He sometimes wondered what life would have been like if he had been the sort of man to just cover up and hide the truth, wondered what he might be doing right now if he had not felt forced to throw back the sheep's skin and expose the wolf to the rest of the flock. If no one else had ever had to look into the eyes of the man – murderer – monster – that was the real Kristoph Gavin. It was a heady possibility, resting on the assumption that, in some strange alternate universe, Klavier could have just gone along with the hoax, the dirty lie that Kristoph had tried to force down his throat almost ten years ago.

But Klavier Gavin was not that kind of man, though he often felt that he would have done anything to go back to his childhood and banish all these sleepless nights and memories of dry, wracking sobs that tore through him when he had no more tears left for his dear, beloved brother. He would have sold his soul for the opportunity to return to simpler times, to slow afternoons when he would sit at his brother's feet and listen to him play the violin or crawl into bed with him when he was too scared to sleep alone at night. Klavier wondered if there really was a way to reconcile these two conflicting feelings: this love of truth, this passion to discover it and force others to see it as it truly was, and this aching longing for the ignorance and innocence that he once had.

But the truth was precious, was wonderful, was a thing to be protected and flaunted and _never_ hidden behind lies, no matter how tempting the chance to turn on it was. The truth was that, regardless of how it had happened, he would still have been here, standing out in the cold waiting for Kristoph to be released into his custody. Even if Kristoph had not killed Shadi Enigmar in that dirty little basement beneath the Borscht Bowl Club, and even if Kristoph had not commissioned the forged diary page from Drew Misham, and even if he had not had such a cunning backup plan to kill the painter, Klavier was certain that he _still_ would have ruined everything and messed up all their carefully laid plans and cherished dreams, because that was what Kristoph was _really good at doing_.

The doors to the Detention Center opened at long last, and Klavier jerked his head down to check his watch again. It was half past seven now. Slowly, he dragged his tired gaze up the stone steps. A part of him hoped that it was just some lowly officer getting down with his shift and heading home for the night, because he was not sure that he was ready to see Kristoph just yet, but he quickly silenced that rebellious sentiment. Kristoph may have been a mad man – a loose cannon, really – but _Klavier_ , at least, was a good brother and would stand beside him when the rest of the world had turned their back on the Gavins.

There was a detective at the top of the steps, but he was not alone.

Blue eyes traveled up past slightly rumpled slacks and over a matching light blue suit jacket. His gaze caught on the pale, dirty ribbon tied around the neck before sweeping over the blond hair that had been carefully twirled into a neat spiral. Klavier's vision slid along the familiar curves of a strong jaw. He saw the smirking mouth – lips pulled up slightly higher on one side – and the delicate wire frames of designer lenses as they were pushed further up on the prominent bridge of the older man's nose with one manicured finger. Klavier swallowed hard.

It was hard to see anything but the Devil, even in this poor lighting, and the one truth that Klavier had never wanted to admit was standing right in front of him. That contradictory evidence that would tear down his own house of cards –

" _Guten nacht, mein bruder."_

Klavier had only ever lied twice in his life. The first time had been when he was small, and did not understand that it was wrong. The last time, though, had been when he told Justice about nothing standing in the way of truth, because the real truth was that blood was thicker than water, or pride, or even love. There was no greater bond, no stronger obligation than the blood that he shared with Kristoph: their brotherhood was the ultimate truth, the one thing that he could not deny or dismiss as a frivolous technicality unrelated to the nature of the case at hand. It was the one thing that he dared not hide from, the thing that would have destroyed him if he tried.

No matter how he looked at it, in the end, they were the same man, by virtue of that tainted blood. And regardless of how much he loved his brother, he also hated Kristoph for turning them both into this monster. He hated him, and wanted to protect him and hurt him and make him pay for every crime he never knew he committed. It was all conflicted, all confusion and strange, boiling feelings in that poisoned blood pounding in his veins whenever he saw Kristoph.

"I've come to take you home, Kristoph." The detective walked his brother down the steps to meet him, holding the criminal by the arm until they stopped in front of the prosecutor. Klavier nodded to the detective, and the man tilted his hat to him and released Kristoph. For a moment, there were no words between them. There were no meaningful looks, no whispered congratulations, no comforting sentiments. For a few, painful seconds, there was only silence. Klavier coughed, and then took his brother by the arm in the same way that the detective had, leading him away from the Detention Center and towards the car. "Come on."

"If I didn't know any better, _Klaus_ ," the tone was meant to be pleasant, Klavier knew, but he could not get past the cool glare and patronizing use of his real name. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. He fumbled with his car keys. "I would almost think that you weren't glad to see me again."

"It's Christmas Eve," he replied, as if the statement of that fact would distract the elder Gavin from his foul mood. Klavier opened the passenger door first, motioning for his brother to get in. He continued on this new strain. "I've missed the carolers this year. You'll have to sing to me on the drive home."

"Sing to you?" Kristoph repeated it, brows raised and a small smile playing with the corners of his lips. Klavier closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. He got in and buckled his seat belt. The keys were in the ignition, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, but he did not turn the car on yet. He heard Kristoph chuckle from the passenger's seat. "You haven't asked me to do that in a long time – "

"I'm not asking," he interrupted, cursed himself for the hard way that he had said it. Klavier had not meant to snap at him. Again, there was silence. He looked over at his brother, and their eyes met, gauging one another. Kristoph had always liked to be in control; it must have been strange for him to have his baby brother talking back like this. Klavier did not care. Their plans of a perfect team to find the truth lay in ashes because of his stupidity, his recklessness. Klavier would never get a chance to face off against his brother in a court of law. And, worse still, Kristoph had proven to them all that he was a liar, and the sullying of his once ideal beliefs were not something that the prosecutor could easily forgive. "Now sing to me."

". . .And what, pray tell, _mein bruder_ , would you have me sing?" the words were clipped, the use of German meant to be condescending. Klavier grimaced. Their blood tie meant that he had the responsibility of ensuring that his brother was cared for, but that certainly did not mean that he would not take full advantage of his new position of power. They both knew that Kristoph would have to do as he was told; after all, it would only take one little phone call to his parole officer, or his psychiatrist, or the judge, and the elder Gavin would be back in prison before sunrise. The former defense attorney really could not afford to call the prosecutor's bluff.

Kristoph was always a little too cautious. Maybe that was why he lost that fated poker game.

"It's Christmas Eve," he repeated simply, turning the key and shifting the car into reverse. Klavier put his arm behind Kristoph's seat, twisting so that he could see through the back window as he began backing the car out of its parking place. "Sing me all my favorites."

When Klavier was little, he used to ask Kristoph to sing to him to help him sleep, or to keep from crying. Sometimes, he would ask his older brother to play the violin for him instead of a lullaby, or to show him some new chord on the guitar that he had gotten as a present. He had always been jealous of his brother's natural musical talents, the way that Kristoph could play any instrument that he got his hands on back then, or the way that he could sing so beautifully without any kind of effort. Klavier was not a natural musician, the same way that he was not a natural German; both were things that had been honed, carefully trained and practiced until he could be sure that no one could see through his cheap facade. His strengths had never really lay in music; it was only a hobby.

He had become a rock star to spite his brother, because he was sure that Kristoph envied his affinity for law. Prosecuting had come easily to him. Kristoph had studied long and hard to become a lawyer, had pressed and insisted that Klavier also enter the profession. _You have so much potential_ , his brother used to say. Kristoph had sent him to Germany to live with their father and study under the best, to have a chance to take the exams early and become an attorney at a younger age than was possible in the States.

Klavier did a lot of things to spite his brother, now that he thought of it. He had come out to his brother a year ago, had mumbled his orientation through the bars that separated them in the prison, just to get a rise out of him. A week later, he had followed it with the news that he had gotten rid of Vognole, because he did not like dogs. He was angry at Kristoph for messing everything up, and he told himself that since he could not allow his brother to die or rot in prison, this was only fair. It was wrong, but at the same time, he thought that he could rationalize making his brother miserable and frustrated as part of his duty as caretaker now, another obligation to be fulfilled. It was a small price to pay for murder, he thought.

"Your. . .favorites, Klaus?"

"Ja. In German, mein bruder."

Kristoph licked his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue visible for just a moment before he set his jaw resolutely. He pushed his glasses up again with one hand, closing his eyes with a sigh. Klavier smiled as his brother's low, sweet baritone soon filled the small vehicle. He loved the sound of that voice: the way that it rose in volume and tempo just right; the way that it was strong and smooth and never fell off-key. The gentle and soothing nature of it was the closest Klavier would ever get to regaining his lost innocence.

" _Stille Nacht. . .heilige Nacht. . . Alles schläft; einsam wacht. Nur das traute hochheilige Paar. Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh . . ."_


	2. Chapter 2

Warning for graphic violence at the end of the chapter.

* * *

 **Ye Merry Gentlemen**

The car stopped outside the house just as Kristoph was struggling to remember the second verse of _In dulci jubilo_ , but although he could recall a few of the Latin phrases that were littered throughout the song, he could not for the life of him remember how it went in German. He soon fell silent, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he adjusted his glasses with one hand. It had been a long time since he had last been forced to speak his second language, and he could clearly hear how he had let his grasp on it wither without use. So many of the words were mispronounced, twisted into garish caricatures and mutilated beyond any kind of feasible comprehension, that Kristoph honestly wondered how it was possible for anyone to enjoy such abominable noise. He was utterly perplexed by Klavier's soft smile, which had been present ever since they left the dark and dirty grey backdrop of the Detention Center. It was almost as though his darling younger brother was enjoying the beauty of his failures, was lapping it up like a fine wine to be swirled around his tongue, relishing the rare and decadent flavor.

His brother shifted the car into park, turned the ignition off and pulled the key out. For a moment, neither spoke. Kristoph had not thought that he would ever find their quiet interludes to be oppressive, but he noted now that that was exactly how it felt. He was once again forced to play some game on another man's terms, was being shunted around the playing field without any understanding of the outcome's meaning.

Klavier was planning something, of this he was certain, but the details eluded him. Perhaps there would be some clue in the next task he would be ordered to fulfill. Maybe his brother would let something slip, something other than those strange, dark glances over at him.

They exited the vehicle and walked slowly to the front door of Kristoph's old house. The older Gavin noted small changes to the property with a frown. His roses were gone from the garden. In the two years that Klavier had been living there, he had had the shutters repainted so that they were a dull brown instead of pale blue. The vine covered veranda was missing from the scene. It was like walking up to a stranger's home, except that the stranger was his brother.

He followed Klavier inside slowly, his heart sinking. That wasn't his furniture in the living room. His things – all classy bright colors and soft textures expressed in gently curving edges – had been replaced with that awful dark fashion, new-age steel and modern spartan shapes. There was leather on the armchair and chains hanging from the ceiling. It made him think of some powerful master's dungeon.

It bothered him more to know that Klavier had moved this furniture in from his old apartment, most likely shortly after the elder Gavin had been incarcerated. He might have even done it the same day.

"Are you hungry?" Klavier asked, dropping his keys on the black end table in the hallway just inside the entryway. Kristoph shook his head, watching his younger brother toss his purple blazer onto the couch as he continued towards the kitchen.

"No, thank you, I'm fine," he murmured, trying to adjust to the strangeness of the evening. He ached for the familiarity that his home should have offered. His feet carried him through the living room, pausing at the beginning of the hallway to gaze down towards his old study. Vognole used to love to lay just outside that closed door, waiting for Kristoph to come home. His heart leapt to his throat. He missed his dog. It occurred to him that he had never asked if Klavier had given her away, or left her to Humane Society, or even had her euthanized. He supposed that he was afraid of the answer to that question; it was probably better that he did not know.

He approached his study cautiously. His hand shook as he reached for the doorknob, begging for it to be the one room that Klavier hadn't destroyed. Kristoph needed only one sanctuary. He turned the knob.

The door didn't open.

"Klaus. . .?" the former attorney called out in confusion, trying the door again. Was it jammed? No. No, it was certainly locked, though he wasn't quite sure why. He didn't remember locking his study before leaving the house under his brother's care. Or ever locking it, for that matter. He wasn't even sure that he owned a key for this room. "Klaus, my study is – "

"You still play the violin, right?"

Kristoph jumped at the closeness of his brother's voice, looking up sharply to see the younger man standing beside him, arms crossed over his chest and watching him intently. He swallowed hard, pushing his glasses up with one hand.

"Of course I do. Why?"

"Play for me." It sounded like another order, said in that childishly demanding tone that made Kristoph want to sneer at his little brother's arrogance. He didn't like being bossed around by the diva.

"I'd rather not."

"I don't care," Klavier met his gaze, something that looked like anger or maybe even hatred broiling just beneath the surface. He was aware of his position, of just how reliant he was going to be on his brother for the next five years. Would this be the way they would always interact now? Would it really be worth it to fight back, to struggle and drag out this tension from the shadows of their conversations? Kristoph hesitated. "I really don't, Kristoph. I couldn't care less what you want. We've been doing what you want for a long time, and look where that got us. It's my turn now."

"Klaus?"

"We're going to do what I want from now on. And right now, I want you to play the violin for me while I make dinner. And then, you're going to read to me all my favorite Christmas stories while I enjoy some hot cider, and wait for midnight," Klavier straightened, pushing himself away from the wall. "Your violin is in the master bedroom. Go get it."

Kristoph opened his mouth to protest, but closed it quickly without another word. He set his jaw resolutely and bowed his head, flourishing his arm in a dramatic bow, as if to say, "Of course, Your Majesty. By your leave."

The master bedroom had been his once. He wondered idly what horrors Klavier had unleashed upon it since he'd left. Vaguely, he recognized that his brother had referred to it not as Kristoph's bedroom, but rather, 'the master' bedroom, as if to further rub in the fact that the elder Gavin was no longer in charge. No longer the master of the house. He watched as his brother turned and stalked back to the kitchen, the sound of dishes being moved and clanking against the counter soon following. Kristoph glared after him for a moment, and then resigned himself to his fate.

This was probably just a phase, he told himself as he headed for the bedroom. Klavier had been rebellious before, but he always came back to his senses. He had put him in prison, only to release him shortly after with little more than a slap on the wrist, after all. Soon, Klavier would get over this silly sentimentality, and things would return to the status quo. Kristoph smiled to himself at the thought.

Big brother knew best, and Klavier had never failed to work into his plans.

The bedroom wasn't locked. Kristoph took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and let himself in.

It didn't look like his room anymore. The curtains had been changed, his bookcase removed. The armoire looked like it came out of some kind of fetish film; the vanity desk had been spray painted black and dark purple. The mirror that used to go above it was gone. There were shackles that attached to one of the walls and lying beside them was some kind of collar. Leather bindings, chains. . . silk rope that seemed to come up from somewhere under the bed. The bed. . .

The bed, at least, he recognized, though he wasn't quite sure if that should bother him, the idea that his brother had turned his room into some deviant hideaway but kept the same bed. And the same three hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets, calming earth tones that matched the dark mahogany headboard. He noted that there was a pair of – probably standard police issue – handcuffs hanging off one corner of the baseboard. Kristoph raised a brow dubiously at something that resembled a shiny leather mask protruding from beneath one of the pillows.

He hadn't realized his brother was into those sorts of thing.

Kristoph dragged his attention away from the bed, scanning the room for his violin. It was resting in its stand in the corner. He gently lifted it, smiling at the familiar feel of the wood in his hands, the strings felt against his fingertips when he pressed them down onto the neck of the instrument, the weight and balance of the bow as he hefted that in his opposite hand. At last, something that comforted him, something that retained its beauty. . . Kristoph placed the violin on his shoulder, nestling it between the bone and his cheek as he leaned his face against the black guard. He ran the bow gently over the strings, listening carefully to the tone that was produced. Retuning it was the work of mere moments. He returned to the living room with it tucked safely under one arm.

"What should I play for you, mein bruder?" he asked, watching as Klavier added some kind of spice to the pot on the stove. The younger man was silent, his back to the elder Gavin as he continued cooking. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally answered:

". . . _Greensleeves_. Play Greensleeves for me."

The house filled with the slow, gentle rise of the violin, the trembling trill at the end of each long note. Kristoph swayed slightly with the music, eyes closed as he pulled the bow lovingly across the strings. There was nothing more beautiful than the sound of a violin in capable hands, nothing quite like the soothing melody of 16th century music. He chose a slow version of the song in C minor, relishing the way the sound reverberated in his chest, so close to his heart. . .he wished they would replace it.

"And I have loved you oh so long, delighting in your company. . ." he heard Klavier murmur the words, humming the chorus when he reached that famous arrangement. Kristoph smiled, the apprehension he had been carrying with him easing out as he played. They used to do things like this many years ago, back before Klavier had gone to Germany to become a prosecutor; he had almost forgotten what it was like to play the violin for Klavier, to listen as his younger brother's voice rose and fell in time with the music.

When he came to the end of the song, Klavier demanded he play another almost before the last echoes of Greensleeves faded from the room.

" _O, Tannenbaum_ ," he said, and when that song had finished, too, he requested another. " _Herbei, o ihr Gläubigen._ "

Kristoph complied without a word.

"In the Bleak Midwinter." There was an odd sense of urgency to his brother's voice, a kind of hungry desperation. But he didn't question it. He just kept playing.

" _Alle Jahre wieder_ ," Klavier demanded, turning off the stove and pulling a bowl from the cupboard. Kristoph dropped the entire final verse just to see if his brother would notice that it was too short. If he did, he said nothing about the omission. " _Weiße Weihnacht_."

He started improvising, adding notes that didn't belong, trilling notes that should have been steady. Klavier was watching him, eyes narrowed but not quite glaring. It was getting strange again. Kristoph could feel the atmosphere changing, stifling, choking him. What was it that Klavier really wanted, anyway? What was the point of this game? " _Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen_."

"Klaus, I don't remember these – "

" _Süßer die Glocken ni_ – "

" _Enough!_ " Kristoph interrupted, shouting over the title of the song. He lowered the violin. "I said I didn't remember. I'm done playing tonight."

Klavier looked like he was going to argue, like he was going to call Kristoph's bluff and remind him that no matter how petty it seemed, he could end this oppressive new freedom at any moment and send him straight back to prison. Instead, though, he simply retrieved his bowl, filled it with the pasta he'd made, and took a seat at the kitchen table. Kristoph exhaled heavily through his nose, taking a seat on the couch and only just barely resisting the urge to sulk. This was stupid. Klavier was being stupid, and strange, and he just wanted all this nonsense to end. They sat like that, the younger brother eating at the table and the elder brooding on the couch, for almost a half hour until the little diva deposited his dishes in the sink, fixed himself a cup of hot cider, and then walked to the bookcase in the living room. Kristoph watched him warily as he selected a few books before sitting down next to him.

"Read to me."

"Read to yourself," the former defense attorney sneered. He made to stand, but Klavier grabbed his wrist roughly and kept him from moving away. Kristoph frowned. He never remembered his younger brother being so much stronger than him.

"Sit down, Kristoph," he said, his voice low and oddly dangerous. Kristoph swallowed hard, feeling confused and uncomfortable. "Sit down and read to me, the way that you used to."

He had no choice, he told himself, as he sat back down beside his brother and took the books into his lap. Kristoph opened them, reading each one with a deliberate slowness. Klavier curled his legs up onto the couch beneath him, cradling his mug of cider in both hands. It seemed like those blue eyes were boring into him, watching and waiting and never blinking. Just. . .something odd about it, something that Kristoph couldn't quite put his finger on. He wished that he could have been as perceptive as his old assistant had been; maybe then he would have been able to see through all these smoke and mirrors antics.

When he closed the final book, he spared a glance to his watch to check the time. It was almost midnight. Klavier set his cup down on the coffee table and stood up.

"One final song, Kristoph, and then we'll go to bed."

Kristoph sighed. He supposed that he could humor his brother one last time for the evening. "What song is that, Klaus?"

"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."

"I hate that song," he said with a deep frown and knitted brow. "You know I hate that song."

"Sing it for me," his brother told him, holding out his hand to help Kristoph off the couch. The elder Gavin took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. His brother didn't let go, but rather, placed his other hand on the paler man's hip. Kristoph's confusion grew, evident in the odd look he gave his younger brother.

"What are you doing, Klaus?"

"I hate it when you call me that."

"It's your _name_ , or have you forgotten?" he asked, but Klavier seemed to ignore the question.

"I'll even start it for you: _God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay_ ," he began the first verse, pausing and waiting for his brother to pick up the next line. Kristoph looked away, but muttered the appropriate words, nonetheless.

"Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day."

" _To save us all from Satan's pow'r, when we have gone astray_ ," Klavier was leading him as he sang, trying to coax his brother into a slow dance. Kristoph put his other hand on the younger man's shoulder, and let himself be guided away from the couch and coffee table. He even joined him in the chorus, singing the harmony in their impromptu duet.

" _O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy. . ."_

They danced to silent music, picking up the pace as Klavier released his hip, spun his brother away only to pull him back in, this time closer than before. Kristoph chuckled, taking back his proper position. They twirled, turning, each trying to lead the other without stepping on toes or running into furniture. Klavier kept singing, his lips twisting up into a smirk.

" _From God our Heavenly Father, a blessed angel came. . ._ " Verse after verse, the repeating chorus rising and falling, their bodies moving with the accelerating rhythm as the fell into the ease of it, each taking turns on the lines when the other couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. The strangeness of it, its foreign nature: the fact that they were dancing to Kristoph's most disliked Christmas carol.

" _Now to the Lord sing praises, all you within this place – "_

" _And with true love and brotherhood, each other now embrace,_ " Kristoph finished the line from the final verse, spinning his brother slowly. They grasped each other tightly, and he wondered why they were doing it at all. Klavier could be so odd, sometimes. " _This holy tide of Christmas all others doth deface. ._."

" _O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy. . . O tidings of comfort and joy._ " He let go. Klavier stepped back.

The last thing Kristoph expected was for his younger brother to hit him.

Klavier's fist connected with his nose with a sharp crack, the force of the blow shattering the cartilage bridge and causing spots to explode like fireworks across his vision. His glasses fell to the carpet as he stumbled back, gasping and pressing a hand to his face. He felt something warm and sticky dripping down his face. It coated his fingers and palm. His hand came away red with blood. Distantly, his mind registered the sound of his lenses crunching under Klavier's boot heel as his brother advanced.

"Wha – ?" he tried to ask what Klavier was doing, what he was thinking, but then his younger brother was grabbing him by the hair and dragging him out of the living room. Kristoph screamed, his perfectly manicured nails digging into the younger Gavin's hand and scratching long welts up his exposed arm. He tried to struggle, but it only made it hurt more, pull harder. Klavier threw him roughly to the floor of the master bedroom. Kristoph scrambled to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away only to have a boot come down heavily between his shoulders, pressing him back down into the carpet. "What are you –?"

The question died on his lips as he twisted his head up, craning his neck to look back over his shoulder at the prosecutor. Klavier's expression was dark, his mouth curling into an animalistic snarl. He stepped off his brother, but a moment later the tip of his boot was rushing towards Kristoph face, nearly knocking his front teeth out. His lips split under the contact, the bitter copper taste filling his mouth. The elder Gavin rolled over with a pained groan, his arms coming up to protect his face from any further injury as he curled in on himself.

He heard the rustling clink of chains being moved and remembered the shackles connected to the wall.

"You never should have lied to me about that case, Kristoph," Klavier was saying, his hands trembling and voice dripping with rage. "I _hate_ liars."

" _Klaus_ – !"

He kicked him into silence, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing the former attorney onto his back. Kristoph did his best to shield himself from the onslaught of punches that followed, but he was hardly successful. Klavier was stronger, and they both knew that Kristoph couldn't risk hurting him back; if he'd managed to land a hit, Klavier would have called the police claiming domestic violence. No one would have said a word about the broken nose or bleeding mouth and loose teeth that Kristoph was sporting. No one would have cared that he was the one who had been beaten. He was a convicted murderer, after all. A criminal. Wasn't this just what he deserved?

Klavier had a knee on either side of Kristoph's chest, digging into his brother's sides as he pinned him with his weight. When he was finally done hitting him, the younger Gavin grabbed the shackles he had moved earlier, clamping them down on Kristoph's wrists. He screamed in frustrated, and pushed his brother off of him. Klavier fell to the side with a grunt, but quickly lunged forward to recapture the other man before he could get too far away. Not that it would have mattered; the chains wouldn't have let him get too far from the wall, anyway.

The fight dissolved into wrestling, into grunts and pants and breathlessness, tangling each other in the chains. Klavier wrapped one around Kristoph's neck and yanked it tight, choking him. Kristoph gagged, his fingers trying to pry their way beneath the metal, trying to pull it away so that he could breathe. His eyes went wide, nostrils flaring. Their gazes locked, blue on terrified, watering blue. Klavier grinned like a man gone mad and pulled the chain tighter still, eliciting a gurgled plea for help from his brother. Kristoph's vision darkened at the edges, the lack of oxygen causing his mind to go hazy.

They stayed that way until the older man blacked out.

* * *

The first thing that Kristoph noted upon regaining consciousness was that it felt like every inch of his body was on fire. He was sore, the pain collecting in hot patches at his nose and throat, arcing down his spine to the places where Klavier had kicked him last night. Had those been steel-toed boots his brother wore? He didn't know. Flexing carefully, Kristoph ran his aching fingers over his body, poking and prodding and checking for broken bones. Miraculously, he seemed intact.

The second thing that he noticed shortly after moving his arms was that he was no longer chained to the wall.

Kristoph opened his eyes with a moan, raising his head from the damp and bloody spot on the carpet that his cheek had been pressed against. He blinked blearily, trying to clear his head. The room was dark, but it was definitely still the master bedroom. He looked towards the bed, but it was empty and Klavier was nowhere to be seem.

With agonizing slowness, Kristoph pulled himself up to his knees, then to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. He grimaced at the swollen mess that looked back at him from the mirror. Just to be safe, he locked the door before relieving himself and turning on the shower, letting the water heat up as he undressed. Kristoph stepped under the spray, naked except for the monitor around his ankle, trying not to stare at the way the clear liquid turned rust-colored and swirled down the drain. The pale man shivered despite the warmth, and gently washed the dried blood from his long hair. He stayed in the shower until even the red crust beneath his fingernails had been scrubbed clean.

He turned the water off and dried himself with a fluffy white towel from the rack against the wall. After a few moments of searching beneath the sink, he managed to locate the first aid kit he kept, thankful to see that it was still stocked, though some of the items looked new. Kristoph had certainly never needed to keep adrenaline or needles and surgical thread before. Bypassing these oddities, he pulled the antiseptic paste and a few packets of sterile gauze and bandages out. He didn't cry as he patched himself up, glancing up at his reflection every few minutes.

But he wanted to. Kristoph wanted to cry very, very badly. He wanted to smash the mirror and the image of the beaten, broken little boy he saw reflected back at him.


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter originally contained a graphic sexual assault, with Klavier forcing Kristoph to give him a blowjob. That has been censored in this version of the fic to fit with the site's rating policy, but the assault and abuse remain, so please proceed with caution.

 **Ye Merry Gentlemen**

The older man didn't see Klavier again until that evening. It occurred to him, vaguely, as he was standing by the stove in the kitchen preparing a cup of tea for himself that it was Christmas Day. How odd to be spending it alone again, even though he wasn't in prison anymore.

"Get on your knees."

Kristoph looked up with a start, some of the boiling water splashing over the side of the cup and onto the otherwise clean counter. His younger brother was standing in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest, blue eyes narrowed into a glare and his mouth a thin, angry slash across his tanned face. The command had come without warning or context, and for a moment, Kristoph thought that he must have been mistaken. He had merely misheard him, because his brother would not say things like that. He set the kettle back down on the stove and turned to face Klavier. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

"I don't understa – "

"On. Your. _Knees_."

Kristoph inhaled deeply through his nose, held that breath for a moment before releasing it as an exasperated sigh. But he did as he was told. His face still hurt from last night, was still bruised around the eyes and a little puffy. The swelling had gone down a bit, though. Klavier walked forward then, stopping to stand in front of his brother. Kristoph looked up at him with a dubious expression, waiting for some kind of explanation.

His brother began unzipping his pants.

"Klaus?"

"I can't have girls over with you here. It's awkward," he explained, but his voice was shaking slightly. Kristoph swallowed hard, his gaze dropping down to Klavier's hands and groin, unable to look away as his brother pulled his half-erect penis out. He had a terrible feeling that he knew where this was going, but could not bring himself to believe it. This was his brother; his sweet, naïve, charming little brother whom everyone had always adored, so _surely_ he could not have been suggesting something like this. _Klaus_ would not do this.

But he was learning quickly that Klavier was not the kind of person he had always imagined him to be. He had never before thought that his precious baby brother would beat him or chain him to a wall, either. It made him wonder what had caused the diva to change, or if he had simply never known him at all. Maybe Klavier had been playing him the whole time.

"I usually have a girl with me on Christmas," the prosecutor was babbling, sounded nervous and jittery and like he wasn't really sure if he knew what he was saying anymore. "But you'll just have to do."

"You're not serious." Kristoph made it a statement, willed himself to snap his teeth together and not gape like an idiot. This was wrong on every level; the very idea made his flesh crawl and his mouth go inexplicably dry.

"I am."

"No," he said, and shook his head. Klavier grabbed the older man by the chin with his free hand, his ringed fingers gripping him harshly. He couldn't turn away.

"Open your mouth." Another command, but this one only made Kristoph clench his jaw tighter, unwilling to go along with it. He wouldn't do this. He didn't want to. It was wrong and disgusting and this was _his brother_ , for God's sake. It was his first Christmas out of the pen and here he was, on his knees in front of the only blood relation he had left while Klavier slowly coaxed himself towards him.

Kristoph was shaking. He didn't ever remember being this scared in prison.

"If you don't do it, _bruder_ ," he used the term on purpose, smirking a little at the way those blue eyes glared at him. "I promise you that I can think of worse to do to you tonight. Besides. It's Christmas. I've been a good boy, and you haven't given me a present yet."

"You've got to be – "

He shouldn't have opened his mouth. In hindsight, he realized that Klavier had just been baiting him, hoping to get a rise out of his normally cool-headed older brother. But the moment he opened his mouth the prosecutor had thrust himself forward into his mouth, gagging him. His jaw was released and his hair grabbed instead, holding his head in place so that he couldn't escape. Klavier grinned down at him.

"You should put your mouth to better use. Oh, and Kristoph? If you bite me, I will remove your teeth, one by one. It will be very painful, ja?"

Kristoph breathed heavily through his nostrils, refusing to move or swallow. He blinked rapidly a few times and told himself he wouldn't cry. It was humiliating, yes, but he wasn't going to make the situation any worse. Klavier groaned above him, pulling his hair and forcing the other's head back before pressing his hips forward. It was a shallow thrust, but it was still too much, and Kristoph tried to cough around the intrusion. The reaction made the younger man shiver and moan and tense up from the shoulders down.

"If you don't want to participate, I can just face-fuck you, you know." Klavier warned, insinuating quite strongly that that was definitely not something his brother wanted. The elder Gavin brought his hands up at last, placing them on his brother's hips, mostly in an attempt to keep him from moving again. A bit of saliva had found its way out of the corner of his mouth and was making its way down his chin. He still wouldn't give Klavier the satisfaction of feeling him swallow. "Make it worth my time."

 _Or you'll regret it, I promise_ seemed to hang in the air in the aftermath of the prosecutor's demands. Kristoph squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't like the idea of another beating like last night, and now that he knew that his brother didn't think sexual punishments were off-limits he was even more concerned. There was a tug on his hair, and he began to move, slowly at first. A soft cry escaped the younger man, and he eased up on his grip to allow Kristoph more room to maneuver.

He had never given a blowjob before, but he had been on the receiving end of a few, and tried to think of what would feel good. Maybe if he got this over with quickly, Klavier would disappear for the rest of the evening and leave him in peace.

"K-Kri. . .Kristoph. . ."

He tried not to listen to the sounds the younger Gavin was making, tried to block out the gasps and the needy way his name had been said. Klavier wasn't begging and they both knew it. He wondered if the diva was just putting on a show to bother him. He bobbed his head obediently, sliding his mouth up and down.

Klavier came with no prior warning but a small, breathy gasp, a bitter taste filling his brother's mouth. Kristoph gagged slightly as it hit the back of his throat. He yanked away, letting Klavier slip out from between his lips. Coughing, he spat the foul substance onto the kitchen floor, looking at the filmy mucus with disgust.

He felt the fingers in his hair twist their grip, and then Klavier's short nails scraped his scalp as he grabbed hold, pulling his head back at a painful angle so that their eyes could meet. Klavier was breathing hard, chest heaving from the exertion of his orgasm.

"You got it on my pants," he laughed, but the smile was all wrong; it was that sweet, innocent smile that he used to give Kristoph when the older Gavin had done something endearing or childish. That smile used to make him happy, but now it only made his stomach tie itself in knots while he waited for the next horrific command in this never ending nightmare. "Lick it off."

Kristoph was shaking when Klavier released him, when he pressed his tongue to one leather-clad thigh. He licked in slow, methodical strokes, his eyes closed as he tried not to think about what he had just done and what he was doing now. He swallowed at last, and could feel the slick, awful texture all the way down his throat.

He waited until Klavier had left the room before vomiting in the kitchen sink.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ye Merry Gentlemen**

Kristoph was on his hands and knees on the cool tiles, a scrub brush clasped tightly in one rubber-gloved hand, a bucket and bottle of bleach close by, as he cleaned up the little mess they had made earlier. His brother stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, looking embarrassed and ashamed when Kristoph had glanced up to find the source of the shadow that had fallen over him. The prosecutor was playing with his bangs and refused to make eye contact.

"I, ah. . .I have to go."

"Yes." Kristoph knew that the reply was unnecessary, but he wanted Klavier to know that he absolutely agreed. He needed to get the hell out of the house, because the elder Gavin could not leave and desperately needed some time to think about the past twenty-four hours. He needed to be alone.

"Ja, well. . . if. . .you need me –"

"I won't, Klaus."

The younger man fumbled for something to say before deciding that silence was, perhaps, the better part of valor. He closed his mouth and turned away from the kitchen abruptly. Kristoph watched him disappear from view, accompanied by the gentle clink of keys and the rustle of a leather jacket before the door opened and was quickly closed. A minute later, he could hear the sound of his brother's motorcycle starting up with a roar and then dwindling into the night as he rode off.

With his guardian gone, the former attorney returned to cleaning diligently, his mind pleasantly blank. It was therapeutic, in a way, to lose himself in the gentle monotony of dragging the brush back and forth over the spot where he had spit his brother's semen nearly an hour ago. He didn't have to think about the way it felt or the reasons behind it. But he had been there for quite some time already, and his back and knees ached from the position. Kristoph straightened with a groan, dropping the brush into the bucket and slowly pulling himself up from his knees. There were some flecks of discoloration on his trouser legs, he noticed with a frown as he took the cleaning gloves off. He must have dripped or splattered some of the bleach onto himself when he wasn't paying attention.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that there were also a few stray drops of blood on the hem and sleeves of his jacket, probably left over from last night. He hadn't bothered to change into new clothes after his shower this morning; he had been tired and upset and had not wanted to go hunting through the house looking for his things in the event that he might run into Klavier's ill-temper. But now he felt the need with a certain, fervent kind of desperation. The house was still and quiet and Kristoph felt dirty, like his brother had smeared his very soul with something fetid and black that would surely stain.

But Klavier was gone now. It was suddenly _safe_ again, and the novelty of that feeling was not lost on Kristoph. He had not felt safe in almost ten years, and certainly not since that fateful trial that had ended his career.

He put away the cleaning supplies, rinsing the bucket out before setting the other items inside it and stowing it away under the kitchen sink. Kristoph lifted a hand to push his glasses up, only to find his fingers brushing over the bridge of his nose. He pulled his hand away from his face with a start. That was right; Klavier had broken his glasses last night. Kristoph had forgotten that in this strangely paced life. He hoped that his brother had not thrown out his spare pair, but merely placed them with his clothes and whatever other personal articles he had not decided to toss in his anger.

Kristoph started his search in the master bedroom. He tried not to look at the chains on the walls or the various bizarre. . . _things_ that the younger Gavin seemed to find arousing. His eyes kept getting drawn back to the bloodstain he had left in his sleeping spot on the carpet. Kristoph shook his head. He would worry about cleaning it out once he found his spare glasses; there had been a small trail of red smears leading into the room from where Klavier had punched him in the living room that needed to be taken care of as well, now that he thought about it.

But neither the spare lenses nor his old clothes were left in the bedroom. Kristoph frowned, pushing aside what appeared to be some sort of latex body suit in the armoire as he reached for the last hanger. Perhaps his things had been moved to the guest room across the hall. That would make sense, wouldn't it? Kristoph did not bother to close the armoire, but simply left it and the door to the master bedroom open.

His things were not in the guest room's closet, either. His frown only deepened. Had Klavier thrown out everything that had been his? Had his little brother tried to erase him from his own home? Kristoph shook his head. He was being irrational and moody, and he knew it. Klavier. . . Klavier would not do that. Perhaps his things had been moved to the garage or a storage unit or –

 _The locked study_ , he interrupted his own train of thought, running his hands over one of Klavier's silk shirts. Yes, that would make sense, wouldn't it? That Klavier would hide away all the signs of his errant big brother in the one locked room in the house; maybe when he got back there would be another power struggle for the key. Was that really what the younger Gavin wanted? Kristoph shook his head with a sigh.

It didn't matter anyway. Whenever Klavier did get back, things would go back to normal. His little brother was just going through a rebellious phase, he reminded himself. Klavier would eventually tire of this game, his attention would shift to something else – something more sane and less wrong – and Kristoph would regain the upper hand. He had nothing to worry about. He never had anything to worry about.

Kristoph stripped out of his soiled suit and left the clothing in a heap at the foot of the guest bed. He and Klavier were practically the same size; surely his brother wouldn't mind if he borrowed some clothes until they located his own things? The silk shirt was darker than he would have liked, and there was a little too much room in the neck and shoulders, the sleeves slightly looser than he normally wore, but it would suffice for now. Klavier, apparently, did not own slacks or trousers, but Kristoph did manage to locate a pair of jeans that the younger Gavin had apparently outgrown. He put those on as well, and wandered back towards the bathroom.

Later, he would burn that light blue suit and forget everything that had happened while he wore it. But for now, he combed his hair out again, carefully twisting it back into its usual style. He brushed his teeth three times and meticulously redid his nails. Then, just as he promised himself, he cleaned up the messes from the carpet in the bedroom and living room.


	5. Chapter 5

Warning for character death in this chapter. I know: about time, right?

 **Ye Merry Gentlemen**

Christmas music was playing in the background, drifting down the hallway to the guest bedroom from the large double speakers that Klavier had installed in the living room. Kristoph looked up from his book with a frown, squinting in the direction of the sound. He had not remembered turning on any music before leaving the other room. The former attorney had given up the hunt for both his spare glasses and the key to his study after another fruitless hour of searching, and with the messes in the bedroom and living room finally taken care of, he had thought it best to wait the rest of the evening out with a one of his favorite novels that Klavier had missed in what seemed to be a purge of the elder Gavin's personal effects. Unfortunately, reading without his glasses had given Kristoph a headache; the world was still slightly out of focus and objects more than a few feet away grew fuzzy and indistinct. Tucking a small slip of paper between the pages, he set the book down on the bedside table and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

Kristoph shook his head, his frown deepening. He had a bad feeling about this, though he could not put his finger on the exact nature of it. Something to do with the music. . . He felt that he should have known the song, but the title eluded him. It hunkered in the back of his mind, waiting and gnawing at him impatiently while he rose to his feet and cautiously entered the hallway, heading for the living room.

The music stopped, replaced by the almost inaudible mechanical whirring of the CD player changing discs. He recognized the opening chords of _White Christmas_ , despite the change from traditional piano and acoustic guitar to a synthesizer and electric base. A shiver ran through him as the realization of what it was hit home: this was the first track on the Gavinners' last holiday album, "Christmas in the Pen."

That meant Klavier was home. The bad feeling grew.

"Klaus. . .?" he asked the living room, looking around for his younger brother. But it seemed that only the diva's voice was present, singing from the speakers. Kristoph crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing absently at one bicep.

"Say you love me," Klavier slurred from his unseen position on the couch, speaking a little too loudly and startling his brother. Kristoph inhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest. But Klavier only pouted where he lay, his blue eyes only half open and his clothing mussed, the remote for the stereo clasped loosely in one hand. The elder Gavin faltered, uncertain how to proceed. In the last twenty-four hours he had learned how little he really knew his younger brother at all, but still he felt the familiar tug of guilt and affection. He knew that he should be taking care of Klavier because he was, or had at some point been, Klaus; his darling, precious baby brother who used to look up to him. This was the boy who had begged him to teach him how to play the guitar and read sheet music. Behind whatever sick game they were currently playing was the same blood that had always been there, the same family history and, ultimately, the same shared fate. Klavier reached out with one hand for his brother, the action sloppy and uncoordinated. "Bruder, tell me you love me."

Yesterday had been part of some kind of awful misunderstanding. He had put the prosecutor through quite a bit, he supposed, and perhaps a black eye and some bruising were in order. Earlier this evening had been a nightmare, certainly, but surely it had been a one-time event. Klavier had been angry and upset and had not been thinking properly. He had babbled about girls coming over, but Kristoph clearly remembered his younger brother talking of a very different persuasion while he was still in prison: Klavier hadn't mentioned a girlfriend since he graduated law school.

And now his younger brother was back to being silly and childish, like he had been earlier in the evening yesterday. He would probably ask him to sing, or play the violin, or read to him, or do any of a number of harmless tasks. Kristoph approached the couch cautiously, the way one might approach an animal thought to be rabid. Klavier's fingers caught on his pant leg, brushing clumsily over the denim as he sought a better grip.

He had obviously had too much to drink at that Christmas party. The elder Gavin smiled at the younger's antics, carefully detaching Klavier's hand from his jeans as he took a seat on the dark coffee table. It occurred to him that he would have never done such a thing with his own furniture; _his_ coffee table had been glass-topped, after all. He took Klavier's hand in his own, idly stroking the back of it with his thumb.

". . .I do love you," he said after a long moment of silence, his voice low and eyes following the way Klavier's mouth twisted up into a broad smile. That smile made it easy to think that this was the old Klaus; the kind, playful boy that he had always known. It made it easy to dismiss yesterday and block out the memory of the incident in the kitchen. If it had not been for the slight ache along his cheekbone or the way he could not help running his tongue over the split in his lip, Kristoph could almost have convinced himself that he had imagined the whole ugly affair.

"Do you?"

"Of course I do, Klaus. You're my only brother."

"Kiss me, then."

Kristoph stiffened, his grip on Klavier's hand tightening. Against his better judgment, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the prosecutor's forehead. His brother chuckled, shoulders shaking a little from the action. Klavier used the elder Gavin's shoulder as leverage to pull himself up, trailing sloppy kisses along his jawline, all hungry lips and wet heat as tried to press his body against him. Kristoph pulled away, keeping his brother at arm's length.

"Stop it, Klaus."

"I thought you loved me."

"You're drunk," he stated with a shake of his head, ignoring the other's comment. "Let me—"

"Take advantage of me," the younger Gavin whispered a little too loudly, the request breathy and desperate. Kristoph felt his stomach drop ominously. "I know you can't pass up revenge."

He wanted to take the prosecutor up on his offer. That revelation only made Kristoph feel worse, knowing that he wanted nothing more right now than to wrap his smooth hands around that firm, tanned neck and throttle the precocious little bastard. He wanted to beat some semblance of sanity back into their lives, wanted desperately to exact retribution and return things to the status quo. It would have been nice, he thought, if he could just kill this strange caricature of Klavier and somehow bring his beloved Klaus back from wherever the diva had banished him.

But that wasn't going to happen. He couldn't give in to the temptation, not now. All he had to do was wait this nightmare out. Everything would be okay once they got through these hard times at the beginning. Kristoph could not afford to be rash. _I must wait, have patience,_ became his silent mantra.

"That isn't funny, Klaus," Kristoph warned as he stood, taking a brief moment to silently congratulate himself on how steady his voice had sounded. Klavier's hands slid off of him, fingers tugging ineffectually at his clothes. The elder Gavin regarded the younger with a disapproving frown, shaking his head again before he stalked back towards the hallway and guest bedroom. All he had to do was bluff his way out of tonight; this was about being cold and not letting Klavier know who really had the upper hand until Kristoph could figure out how to control him again.

Kristoph tried not to think about how very bad he was at bluffing, whether at cards or real life.

" _Vergewaltige mich."_

He froze in the doorway, turning slowly to look back at his brother. The words hadn't been said coyly, playful or slurred, but instead had been forced out in a breathless rush. Desperate. Hungry. _Wanting_. Klavier was leaning over the back of the couch, gripping his elbows with his hands and looking for all the world like his suggestion was the only thing that would fix all this madness. He wasn't smiling anymore. There was no dirty, mischievous look in his wide, pleading gaze.

There were some things that were not meant to be said, that were not meant to be heard. There were some things that should have remained sacred, and should have been left untouched by the nightmare he had found himself in. It felt like the walls were crashing down around him, like the ground was shifting precariously under his feet. His hands ached, the scar felt hot and new like when he had first gotten.

Like the last time he had lost control.

"Wha. . . W-what did you just say, Klaus?" His mind was reeling. It felt like the ground was shifting under his feet. He had the sudden, terrifying feeling that this was the new status quo, that this nightmare would never end and Klavier would always be this unintentionally cruel and out of hand. The elder Gavin's throat felt inexplicably dry, his intestines twisting and roiling in his gut. He thought he might be physically ill again at the prospect.

"Vergewaltige mich."

"You're joking." It was not a question. It could not be a question, because Kristoph did not know what to do if Klavier was being serious. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how to respond properly. He felt dizzy, and wished the world would just go still and silent for a moment so he could arrange his thoughts. "What's gotten into you?"

"Bitte," he said, licking his lips hungrily. "I promise not to fight back. I just. . . I hurt you, and I'm sorry, and I want you to punish me. I want you to hurt me until you forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Kristoph asked, disbelief coloring his features. The world seemed to snap back into focus. This was ridiculous. This was beyond mad or cruel or any of those things that had muddled his thoughts before.

Suddenly, it didn't feel like giving in when he walked back over to the couch, when he grabbed Klavier by the hair and dragged him over the back to thump heavily onto the living room floor. Klavier shouted at him, cursing and began to struggle, his legs kicking out without coordination as he fought to get to his feet. Normally, Klavier was stronger than him. But drunk and stunned he did not stand much of a chance against the rage boiling beneath Kristoph's skin. It did not feel like failure to drag his baby brother along the same path that he himself had travelled not long ago. The younger man pulled away in the hallway and managed to stumble to his feet, his back pressed to the wall.

Kristoph curled one hand into a fist and punched Klavier in the mouth, snarling. Klavier fell back, head snapping back against the plaster so hard that it left a dent in the wall. Kristoph grabbed the prosecutor's arm and pushed him towards the bedroom. Klavier twisted, his feet unsteady, and fell against the bathroom door. It opened, and he landed with a gasp on the tiled floor.

"I don't forgive you." His scar hurt. They did not make it to the bedroom.

* * *

Shit.

It was the only coherent thought that had made its way through Kristoph's head in the last hour and a half since he had returned to his senses. He was sitting on the floor in the hallway bathroom, his back against the closed door and his nose bloody. His palms and fingers were covered in small cuts and his scar was still throbbing. There was glass scattered across the floor amid streaks of red that all led back to the pool of blood at the base of the shower door.

Kristoph was not alone.

Or rather, he was alone, because Klavier hadn't moved since he'd come to. Klavier hung limp where his head had been forced through the glass of the shower door, the full weight of his body forcing his neck down on the jagged, broken edges until they had pierced the skin, sliced the artery, and he had bled out.

Kristoph was very much alone.

 _Shit._


End file.
